


Hand Cuffs and Whipping Cream

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Longings [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly, F/M, Fun with Benches!, Knock first for God's sake, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mycroft and Althea scheme, Sherlock surprises John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Sherlock has been working on his lists for Ella but John has some amendments to make. They discuss the future and Sherlock has a few surprises for John. John sees a little more of Uncle Rudy than he had bargained for. Molly and Althea lunch, while Mycroft tries to find the perfect conditions under which to propose. Following a therapy session, Sherlock and John take things in a new, unexpected direction. Mycroft's bench gets a workout.





	

          Collapsing onto Sherlock’s sweaty chest, John moaned happily. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how intense that is.”

          Long arms came around him and Sherlock’s voice, a bit panty and slurred, purred quite smugly, “And to think that at one time you weren’t entirely certain you could let me in your body.”  His large, long fingered hands swept down John’s back, drawing a shiver out of him, and grasped his buttocks, pulling him closer. Sherlock wound his legs around John’s legs and held him close. “And now it’s all _more, more, oh God, Sherlock, yes!_ ”

          “You’re really insufferable sometimes, you know that?” John bit Sherlock’s right nipple and smiled against his skin, “Cute, but insufferable.”

          “Cute? _Cute?_ ” The disgust in the younger man’s voice was palpable. He really was ridiculously easy to wind up. “I’m not cute, John, if anything I am gorgeous.”

          “Modest, too. You’re forgetting that double chin though, princess.”

          Sherlock nearly knocked John in the head with the chin in question when he jerked back in a huff, “I do not have a double chin, take that back!”

          John raised his head, grinned at him and laid back down, “Yeah you do. Got it right now.” The next instant he was flipped unceremoniously onto the mattress when Sherlock shoved him off his body. Sherlock leapt out of bed and stomped over to flip on the light and stare at his reflection in the small mirror over the tall chest of drawers.

          John tucked himself comfortably under the covers as his lover turned this way and that, making various faces at himself in the mirror.  Vain, poncy git. “If you’re going to keep that up all night would you go downstairs please? I have a locum shift at seven and need my sleep.”

          Swooping out of the room, Sherlock didn’t bother to turn off the light until John’s voice, pitched low, but meant to carry, stopped him in his tracks. “Turn that light off or you’re sleeping on the couch the rest of the week—and no sex either!”

          Following a deeply silent but thoughtful pause, Sherlock’s hand appeared, the light went out and John grinned to himself, turning over to sleep.

 

******

 

**_Results re: Ella’s Experiment (Public Expression of Attraction)_ **

**_ Holding Hands _ **

**_Walking (Rosie to swim class)- Pleasant_ **

**_At Tesco—John made me go- Pleasant until we began to argue about tea_ **

**_Riding on the Tube- John tripped the spotty miscreant who called us fairies and as he fell I yelled “Mind the gap!” and the moment ended in laughter- Pleasant & amusing_ **

****

**_ Kissing in Public _ **

**_At Tesco (before the argument: see above for details)- Too public_ **

**_Outside of 221B (as John left for the clinic and I hailed a cab to ~~bother~~ approach Lestrade about the lack of cases) - Pleasant_ **

**_At Angelo’s- I do not like kissing when we have consumed garlic; also, I find it distasteful when surrounded by strangers masticating their food_ **

**_ Ancillary behaviour _ **

**_Hugging (upon leaving one another’s presence)- Positive & to be repeated on other occasions when John says it is appropriate_ **

**_Touching (casual, intentional and accidental)-Pleasant/Positive/Appropriate to setting (see list below)_ **

**_Use of endearments- I am uncomfortable with this in public, John said he would abstain unless we are alone_ **

**_Outcome: Both John and I agree that certain behaviours are better left to the privacy of our home, but the experimentation has led to a lively discussion about boundaries and expectations and culminated in what John was pleased to term “a healthy amount of snogging”_ **

****

**_Touching:_ **

**_Hands/arm/face/hair is fine when others are present_ **

**_Neck/throat/chest/back may not be acceptable depending on the location and the presence of others_ **

**_Below the waist-John says this is NOT acceptable in public unless one of us has been shot/stabbed/bludgeoned/burned or needs a shoe tied_ **

****

_Sherlock,_

  * _You eat, you can help buy the biscuits, tea, milk--and for the record, Ella, the argument about tea is because he’s a berk who refuses to drink tea made from perfectly good tea bags._
  * _That punk is lucky I’ve had anger management courses and all I did was trip him. Thank you for making me laugh, Sherlock._
  * _Lestrade called while you were sulking, he has a case, sounds like a 5 but you’re bored and I’m about to shoot a frowny face in the wall, so tell him you’ll help._
  * _What about kissing when we haven’t had garlic but it’s our anniversary and Angelo lights a candle and we don’t sit in the booth by the window?_
  * _If there’s no dead body, the press isn’t around and we aren’t trying to run from bad guys, you can probably assume it is safe for a hug. Actually, come give me one when you’re done sulking, I miss you and might consider forgiving you for the Tesco thing if you grovel._
  * _Sorry again about calling you sweetheart in front of Mycroft, it just slipped out._
  * _Not healthy enough, come satisfy my unwholesome desires._



******

 

TO: [davidhooper@midnightsun.net](mailto:davidhooper@midnightsun.net) 

FROM: [m.hooper@airmail.co.uk](mailto:m.hooper@airmail.co.uk)

SUBJECT: Holiday

 

David!!!

   Oh my goodness do you mean it are you really visiting? For two whole weeks?! That’s brilliant!!! I can’t wait to see you, it has been far too long and I’m thrilled to get you for as long as you want to stay. You don’t need to get a hotel, you and Angela can stay at my flat, I’ll stay with Mycroft so you have privacy. Let me know what you’d like to do while you’re here and we can make reservations…Mycroft can get us in anywhere.

   Let me know what Angela likes to eat and I’ll lay in some supplies…maybe you can have her email me and we can get to know one another a bit? I can’t believe you’re engaged! My little brother getting married!!!!!!!!!!!

   Does Angela’s family know yet? I’m sure they’re excited as well, especially if she has been gone from Koblenz as long as you’ve been gone from England. I’m sure her mother will want to have the wedding there, especially since we can’t scrounge up much family between us. I’ve never been to Germany, I’m quite excited at the idea. I’m going to Google Koblenz now.

   Do you mind if I share this on my blog? Or would you rather keep it private for now? I’m going to show your engagement snaps to Mycroft and Meena, he’s the epitome of discretion, and you know Meena.

   I am beyond happy for the two of you and thank you for calling me and letting me know and for sending the pictures. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help make your holiday enjoyable, and if Angela wants me to get her any wedding magazines? I’m sure they don’t have much there!

   Oodles of love, Molly 

 

******

 

          “Mrs. H, do you think you could watch Rosie for me? Sherlock wants me to join him at the crime scene and Emily is—oh. Oh God, sorry! Sorry, Rudy, I didn’t know you were here. Sorry for bursting in, I’ll just go—”

          “That’s alright, John, no harm done. After all, Martha must have left the door unlocked…she’s just popped to the shops for some whipped cream. I say, you don’t happen to have a pair of handcuff keys handy, do you? I’ve a rather pressing need to use the loo.”

          “As a matter of fact…”

          “Oh, dear boy, you are a lifesaver! Pardon me a moment.”

          “Uh, yes, of course...blimey.”

          “What’s that, John?”

          “Nothing!”

          “…so much better. Now, what was that you were saying when you came in?”

          “Oh, well, I wanted to know if Mrs. Hudson could watch Rosie, but since you’re busy—“

          “Nonsense, we’d be delighted. Let me just pop my dress on and I’ll come up. That is…if you’re comfortable leaving her with me?”

          “Are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, if you had plans? Oooh, nice dress.”

          “Thank you, dear boy, aren’t you sweet?”

          “Uh oh, looks like you have a small rip just there.”

          “At least it’s on the seam, easily mended. Martha was in a bit of a hurry. Between you and me, John, she is a delightful woman. Very _passionate_.”

          “…that’s…lovely. I’m glad the two of you are getting along. Rosie, here’s Uncle Rudy—do y’mind if she calls you Uncle Rudy?”

          “Please! I’d be thrilled. Hello sweetheart, do you remember me?”

          “Rosie, Uncle Rudy is going to watch you while Daddy and Papa are working. And Aunt Martha will be home soon and you can have tea. She’s been fascinated by this talk show, if you leave it on she will likely stay quiet. Mrs. H knows what she has for tea. I’ll write my number down in case you have any questions…sure you don’t mind watching her?”

          “Not at all, John. Rosie, I’ll just sit and watch television with you, shall I? Aunt Martha will be home soon and we can all have tea. She’s bringing whipped cream and we can have that with our milk and biscuits, won’t that be nice?”

          “…erm, okay then. Goodbye, and thanks again!”

          “Say bye-bye daddy, bye-bye!”

 

******

 

John: On my way. Uncle Rudy is watching Rosie.

Sherlock: Hurry.

John: Fast as I can.

John: Your uncle is quite fit for a man of his age.

 

******

 

          It was quite surprising, Mycroft reflected, how difficult it was proving to ask Molly to become his wife. There had been several excellent occasions, both planned and natural, in which he might have ‘popped the question’ and yet here it was, weeks later and he still had not managed it. He’d taken to carrying the ring with him everywhere.

          First he had thought he would take his beloved Molly to a romantic candlelit dinner at a very exclusive restaurant, but upon further reflection, he had decided that he didn’t want a roomful of strangers witnessing their intimate moment. Having scrapped that idea, Mycroft had toyed with the notion of asking her on a picnic to some private location, hiding the ring in the dessert and getting down on one knee. There were two problems with that plan: one, the weather had been atrocious, and two, his trousers would suffer.

          Next, it occurred to him that he was being too rigid, and that the perfect setting would devolve naturally and he would recognize it and seize the moment. Only that had failed several times; twice because he lost his nerve, once because he had developed a nosebleed from the anxiety (a childhood ailment which he had _thought_ he had outgrown), and once because, just as he was preparing to kneel on the pavement—trousers be damned—a group of school children had swarmed around them, intent on getting into the sweet shop.

          He was a planner, this was where his strength lay. Mycroft wondered why he had ever thought to leave this to chance. What he needed was the perfect venue, the perfect plan and the perfect suit (Molly did love his suits, after all). So: a trip to his tailor, research on venues, a failsafe plan, and, just because he was becoming a bit neurotic about it all, a back-up.

 

******

 

          “Himself is up to something,” Althea confided, stabbing at her salad. “I’m not sure what, but brace yourself. The last time I saw him throw himself into a project with this much enthusiasm, none of us got any sleep.”

          Toying with her own lackluster salad, Molly grinned at Mycroft’s PA, “Oh who are you trying to fool? You know you thrive on the challenge of keeping up with him.”

          “That’s because there’s something deeply wrong with me. You, on the other hand are norma—no, sorry, I just can’t say it with a straight face.”

          “Ha. Ha.” Molly restrained herself from poking her tongue out at Althea. “I’ve made it clear to Mycroft that I require eight hours of sleep at night and if things go sideways I’m fitting in naps.”

          Althea shook her head admiringly, “I don’t know quite how you do it…I’ve never seen anyone handle him the way you do. Well, apart from myself.”

          “And you’re a master,” Molly complimented, and finally ate a bite of salad. She hated salads, but her trousers were getting a bit snug and it was the price she had to pay. Damn Valentine and his delicious meals.

          “Speaking of masters,” Althea continued, “I have the name of a genius wedding planner. I know you said your brother was probably getting married in Germany, but she is brilliant, Molly, really. One look at her website and they might change their mind.” Smiling slyly, she sipped her water, “Wouldn’t you like to have your only brother married in England? Think of all the lovely old churches they could have the ceremony in.”

          “I’m looking forward to the wedding being in Germany,” Molly informed her with a smile, “I’ve never been, and I’m hoping your boss will be able to get some time off and go with me. I know he hates things like that, but it would be almost like a holiday, just with a wedding in the middle.”

          “I’ll make sure he has the time free, if that’s what you want.”

          “Thank you. Besides, I think Angela would like to plan her own wedding, not have me trying to run things. I have put together a huge pile of wedding magazines for her, however, and if nothing else she and I can pour over them when they’re here.” Molly smiled dreamily, “David said she’s quite a traditionalist in some ways…that’s why he got down on one knee and asked her, but only after he’d Skyped her parents and asked for their permission,” Molly’s tone was wistful, “It sounds so romantic.” She sat up straight, “But I don’t want to interfere in their plans, I’m sure Angela intends on asking her mother and sisters to be involved.”

          “We’ll save Ms. Singleton for when you and the boss get hitched, then.” Althea flicked aside a few lettuce leaves, looking for the olive that was hiding from her. “Assuming that ever happens.”

          “I’m just happy that he’s willing to participate in a relationship,” Molly supplied, fishing out her olives and dropping them on Althea’s plate. “Do you know he’s gone to the cinema with me twice? And we’ve even gone and just done things like pet the animals at a pet store, and walk in the park.” Molly sighed happily, “I’m quite pleased actually.”

          “Just because you have him acting halfway human doesn’t mean you can’t ask for more,” Althea frowned at her, “You’re far too prone to letting people walk all over you, Molly, and if you want to marry him, then you should get what you want.”

          “No matter how _he_ feels about it?” Molly teased because she didn’t really want to consider Mycroft and marriage. He had already given so much of himself to this relationship. Wishing for the impossible would be a futile and frustrating effort. If she just appreciated all that she had, then she couldn’t miss what wasn’t hers. “Besides, we haven’t even discussed living together. I think we should take things one step at a time.”

 

******

 

          Ella looked up from the notes Sherlock had supplied, “Well, this is quite thorough. I must say; the two of you seem to have an active and healthy approach to figuring out what works for you both in this relationship. Tell me, John, are you comfortable with Sherlock’s conclusions? Is there anything you want that he is hesitant to give?”

          “No, I’d say we agree on the important stuff. I’ve never been really demonstrative in public anyway, and I understand Sherlock’s desire for circumspection. I’m happy with where we’ve ended up.” He took Sherlock’s hand in his, smiling, “Besides, I get him all to myself when we’re alone, and he’s very loving then.”

          A blush rode Sherlock’s cheekbones, but he smiled, pleased, because John had sounded so happy and proud. “If there was something you really wanted, John, such as a kiss on our anniversary,” he blushed harder, “I wouldn’t object.” The idea of John and candlelight sounded quite wonderful, actually. Oh Lord, when had he turned into such a dithering sap?

          “And your list of reasons for sobriety,” Ella said, shuffling papers, “I see John and your daughter on here several times in one form or fashion.” She smiled, putting the page down, “It’s clear that you care for them both very much. I hope it helps you to remember, when the urges threaten to overwhelm you, that you have people who love you and a future to look forward to.”

          “Bees and all,” John teased gently, “I’m holding you to it, you know. The cottage, retirement…I picture us in matching jumpers, doddering around the hives,” he laughed outright at the appalled expression on Sherlock’s face, “Maybe not matching jumpers then.”

          Ella hid a smile, “Is the future something the two of you have discussed?”

          “To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought,” John began, shifting in his seat so he could look at both Ella and Sherlock, “So far I’ve just been sort of…enjoying the moment. But Sherlock’s lists and notes, they made me think. We talked about it a little, after that.”

          “We discussed retiring someday,” Sherlock told her, “John wants to keep working as a doctor; he thinks he might like being a country doctor.” He was enthusiastic, “He’d be perfect on lonely farms and things, helping people who have fallen ill or encountered an accident.” His look at John was filled with pride, “John is a wonderful doctor, more so when it’s an emergency.”

          “Ooh, look who’s heaping praise on me,” John teased, “trying to get out of cleaning the flat when we get home, hmm?”

          “And what of your thoughts on adoption?” Ella refocused them, but Sherlock couldn’t resist giving John’s thumb a pinch when she wasn’t looking. “Did the two of you discuss that?”

          “We did,” John sobered a bit, “I’m…I’m not against it, exactly, but, well…I feel disloyal to Mary’s memory. It seems like we’re sweeping away the past, and that’s hardly fair to her.”

          “Have you forgotten her?”

          “No, of course not! She was—I loved her, I still do,” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and he tried to remind himself that John had said many times that he loved him. “She—she saved me, after I thought Sherlock had died. Without her, God, I probably wouldn’t be here. And I loved her for who she was, too. She was just the wife I needed, even when I thought— and she was a wonderful mum and she gave me Rosie.” His face darkened, “I’ll always feel guilty for having cheated on her, even if it was just words.”

          “John,” Sherlock murmured.

          “Go on, John.”

          “I know she’s dead, I know she isn’t coming back. But I feel like if Sherlock adopts Rosie, it’s like saying Mary didn’t matter, that she’s gone and we should forget her.”

          “But we wouldn’t!” Sherlock objected, “Mary was almost as dear to me as you, John, and I can never forget her. She kept you safe for me—so many times—and she brought us back together—“ they shared a significant look, which was not lost on Ella. She had learned, however, that there were certain things about which both men were reticent. “We talk about her…maybe not as much as in the early days, but we talk about her.” He looked at Ella, “We put her picture right next to Rosie’s bed and she tells her goodnight, and we have pictures in the flat elsewhere.”

          “We do,” John said, looking a little lighter. “I’ve got wedding videos to show Rosie when she’s older, and I saved some of Mary’s things for her. And there’s a letter she wrote to Rosie…that will have to wait until she’s a good deal older.” Ella saw the shadow cross his face again and Sherlock reached for him, offering comfort, sharing the burden. Really, she thought they were doing remarkably well.

          “Often in second marriages, or second unions, the step-parent will adopt the child…that doesn’t mean that the mother or father who is deceased has been wiped away, just that everyone is moving on.” Ella looked from John to Sherlock. “That’s what we do in life, we move on to the next phase. Perhaps, for the two of you, that’s adoption.”

 

******

 

          “Well?”

          Althea stood stiffly on the opposite side of his desk. “I want to say once more that I consider Molly a friend and I don’t like spying on her for you.”

          Mycroft sighed soundlessly, “Your objections have been noted. Twice. And as I explained, I am merely trying to ascertain a little insider information before I propose.”

          “She didn’t express any personal preferences for wedding venues, dresses, flowers or the like.” Althea unbent enough to sit in the straight backed visitor’s chair, “Although she has apparently amassed quite a collection of bridal magazines for her future sister-in-law.” She regarded him cynically, “You’re in a better position than I to go through those. Molly seems to think,” Althea went on, “that the likelihood of you proposing is approximately zero.”

          Mycroft froze, “You asked her directly?”

          “Don’t worry, I worked my way round to it.”

          “Why would she think that?” Mycroft’s brow wrinkled, “We’ve been together for two years, I’m serious about her, she cannot possibly think this is just a casual fling for God’s sake!”

          Althea shook her head, “Maybe because you’re the Ice Man and you don’t do relationships? She seems to feel that she’s incredibly lucky to get as much time with you as she does.” Her expression hardened, “And if you ask me, you must be treating her awfully shabbily if she’s grateful to wander pet stores and take walks in the park and think they’re some sort of boon on your part.”

          Mycroft gnawed guiltily on his lip.

          “She seemed to think that marriage wasn’t even on the horizon, and that at the least the two of you should discuss living together before I went bandying about any wild ideas like marriage. My advice, Holmes, is that you should try talking to Molly more, see what she wants. She’s not ready for marriage because she isn’t expecting it to happen.” Althea rose and crossed to the door, looking back over her shoulder she fired her parting shot, “And isn’t that a shame?”

 

******

 

          After putting Rosie to bed, they walked together to the living room, sinking tiredly onto the couch. They were alone, Emily was downstairs in her self-contained basement flat. “She fought tooth and nail not to fall asleep,” John sighed, slumping into the cushions. “Can you imagine what she’s going to be like as a teenager?”

          “We’ll ship her off to live with Mycroft,” Sherlock quipped, smirking at him, “That’s bound to put the fear of God into her.”

          “Oh good, then we can pay for the therapy she’ll need when she comes home.” They shared a laugh, and Sherlock put his arm around his boyfriend, pulling him to his side and burying his nose in his hair. He loved how John always smelled familiar.

          John sighed and leaned into him. “Honestly, I can’t imagine doing this without you.” He opened his eyes, looked at Sherlock, “I’d be honoured if you wanted to adopt Rosie.” He tugged Sherlock’s head down and kissed him, “Let’s make it official.”

          Sherlock’s heart was racing, “Make what official?”

          John looked at him like he was crazy, “What do you think? The—oh.” His eyes widened and after a minute he grinned from ear to ear. “Are you suggesting we get married?” He was smiling madly, “That—what did you call it? That outdated institution?” John tapped his chin thoughtfully with a finger, “A desperate act by the lonely to tie someone to them?”

          “Shut up,” Sherlock growled, ears red. He pressed John down onto the sofa on his back, pinning him easily; although, truth be told, he knew John was skilled enough and dirty enough a fighter to escape. Shutting him up by the simple expedient of kissing him stupid, Sherlock eventually had to come up for air, ears ringing.

          John had wound himself effectively around Sherlock and had even trapped his legs between his thighs. His expression was a mixture of happiness, wonder and caution. “Do you mean it? Do you really want to marry me?”

          Sherlock let his expression soften and watched in wonder as John’s visible happiness expanded, “Yes,” he breathed, kissing him again, more softly this time. “Yes,” he whispered in John’s ear, hugging him tightly, “Yes, John.”

          “Christ, Sherlock, I love you.” John squeezed him so tightly that he saw stars and gasped eagerly for air when John finally loosened his hold. “Let’s get married!”

 

******

 

ALTHEA:      I will just say that Molly seemed awfully taken with the idea of a                                 traditional proposal & the asking for the hand in marriage bit.

ALTHEA:     You know what a romantic she is.

MYCROFT:           Thank you.

ALTHEA:     If you want my opinion, you should formally ask her to move in                       first.

MYCROFT:  I don’t.

MYCROFT:  But thank you.

ALTHEA:    And for God’s sake, sir, take her out more.

MYCROFT:           Your advice has been noted.

 

******

 

          “This is thrilling!” Martha burbled happily, her eyes very bright from a combination of champagne and excitement. “Ooh, I knew this day would come eventually! Didn’t I say, right from the first?” She flung her arms around Sherlock yet again, “Oh my dear boy, I’m absolutely thrilled for you and John.”

          He endured another embrace, sighing impatiently. Accepting overly enthusiastic congratulations from all and sundry was going to be a burden if this engagement went on for too long. John had read him the riot act for expressing that opinion out loud and he was now bidden to be on his best behaviour.

          Molly was equally ecstatic, her cheeks pink, her dimples blazing and her smile unstoppable. Sherlock thought she looked like a demented elf, but he kept that thought to himself. _See, John, I have self-control_. Although it was nice that everyone was so delighted, Sherlock mostly wished they would just send a thoughtful card instead of descending on him en masse. But just look at John…clearly he was enjoying this. Sherlock supposed he could endure the fuss if it put that happy look on John’s face.

          Rosie was toddling about in her party dress, pulling things down from any flat surface she could reach, and periodically enduring being swooped upon, crushed to the bosom of whomever was clutching her, and having kisses pressed upon her. Her scowl was deepening. Sherlock knew just how she felt.

          Resisting the urge to disappear into his lab, Sherlock held his untouched glass of champagne and attempted to look pleasant. Failing that, John had instructed him to avoid looking like a goddamned dick.

          A fresh wave of guests arrived, including Mycroft and his parents. Mummy and Father descended upon him like the Viking hordes pillaging England. Looking very festive in her flowered dress, Mummy swept across the room, Father trailed in her wake, beaming calmly, his bow tie resplendent. The guests parted for her and she threw her arms around Sherlock, “Darling boy! Oh, my sweet, sweet Sherlock, give me a kiss! Mwah, mwah!” Pressing her lipsticked lips to both his cheeks she held his face in her hands and beamed at him, looking even more demented than Molly. “Oh Sherlock,” her voice dropped huskily and to his horror he saw the tears beginning.

          “Mummy, wouldn’t you like some champagne?” He asked desperately, trying to pass her his glass.

          “This is the happiest day of my life,” his mother said breathily, “I never thought either of my boys would get married, and now here you are, engaged to dear John and giving me a grandchild to boot!” She looked around, “Where is Rosamunde?”

          “Here she is, Violet,” John came up, Rosie on his hip. He exchanged kisses with Mummy and passed Rosie to her, “Can you give Granny a kiss?” He met Violet’s eyes over Rosie’s curly head, “Is that alright, Violet?”

          Mummy embraced him again, one-armed this time because the other was wrapped around Rosie, “Of course it is, John! Oh, what a wonderful thing…to already have a granddaughter!”

          Siger smiled affably at John from behind his wife and clasped John’s hand in both of his, “You’ve made her very happy, John. Congratulations, boys.” His father squeezed Sherlock’s arm, his blue eyes shining, “You really have made us both very happy, Sherlock.” He dropped his voice, “All any parent ever wants for their child is that they be happy.”

          “Thank you, Father. Champagne?”

          “Thank you!”

          Violet dragged Siger into conversation with John and Sherlock stepped back, thankful for a moment of peace.

          “Good Lord, this looks less like an engagement party and more like the beginning of a brawl,” Mycroft murmured from behind his left shoulder. Sherlock looked back at him, brow arching. “Get a few more drinks in this crowd and Mrs. Hudson will be dancing on the tables and Mummy and Molly will be coming to blows over who gets to hold your daughter.”

          Sherlock’s mouth tipped up in a smile and the brothers stood silently surveying the party. “Congratulations.”

          “Thank you.”

          “Is it to be a large ‘do?” A smile ghosted over Mycroft’s lips, and Sherlock smirked.

          “I sincerely hope not. We haven’t discussed that far, however.”

          “Limos, tuxes, organ music… _speeches_.”

          “Taxi, suits, registry office.”

          “Oh brother mine, you are optimistic.” Mycroft sipped his champagne, “Although you at least have the experience as a wedding planner to see it all right.”

          “I never did get to do the swans.”

          “Pardon?”

          “Nothing. Hmm, Molly certainly does seem cheerful, did you spike her drink?”

          “That’s her usual aspect and you know it.”

          “I daresay she’d be a sight more cheerful if you gave her that ring you’ve been carting about for weeks.”

          “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

          “Oh, please.”

          “ _Sherlock_.”

          “What’s wrong, Mycroft, lose your nerve? Afraid she’ll cut and run? Or are you just unable to bring yourself to kneel to anyone?”

          “I loathe you.”

          “Hmm, evasion, interesting.”

          “Shut. Up.”

          Sherlock suddenly called out quite loudly, “Molly!”

          Mycroft gave him his version of an alarmed look, which was slightly wider than usual eyes and flared nostrils. “Sherlock,” he hissed, “Do not dare—“

          Molly bounced over, as effervescently happy as previous. Mycroft looked constipated. Sherlock’s eyes were lit with a fiendish delight quite at odds with his angelic smile. Molly beamed at them both, “This is a lovely party! Oooh, I am so happy for you and John!” Sherlock was the recipient of yet another hug, which he bore manfully.

          “Thank you, Molly. I do appreciate your congratulatory words, especially given our history.”

          Mycroft made a noise that could best be described as a snarfle, and Molly’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Sherlock,” she admonished, “that was rude and unnecessary.” She slipped her arm through Mycroft’s, and he softened, the look he gave her positively fond. Sherlock stifled the urge to gag. “I don’t come up to you and John and mention _the past_ , do I?”

          Sherlock stiffened, and Mycroft smothered a laugh. Molly had clearly been spending too much time with his brother; there had definitely been a note of warning, if not outright blackmail, in her tone. She smiled sweetly when he muttered an apology. Abandoning his plans, Sherlock ~~sulked~~ ~~brooded~~ surveyed the party silently.

 

******

 

          “It was a lovely party, even if Sherlock was there.” Molly sat down on the padded bench at the foot of Mycroft’s vast bed and took off her strappy heels, wincing.

          “I suppose it would have been rude to have the party without him.” Mycroft called from his dressing room. Molly uttered a sharp ha! and pointed out that his brother would have preferred to miss it.

          “Just think, darling,” Molly pointed out from the doorway, watching in pleasure as he began to disrobe—she did so love his suits and watching him undress was practically pornographic, “Soon he will be John’s legal responsibility.” She moved behind him, slid her arms around his waist, and kissed the center of his spine through his vest, “Freedom…” she murmured enticingly.

          “The pleasure is liable to go straight to my head,” Mycroft murmured dryly, and she laughed. “Not that I don’t appreciate the embrace—and your lovely breasts pressed against me—but are you planning on moving? I’m only half undressed.”

          “So you are,” Molly kept her left arm around him, fingers splayed over his belly, and let her right hand glide down his stomach to the front of his trousers. He sucked in a breath when her hand molded him through the fine material, each grazing pass of her fingers causing his cock to harden. “It’s quite titillating, seeing you like this. Only I get to know you like this.” Her left hand traveled up and passed over his nipple, brushing back and forth with ever more insistent pressure, even as her right hand continued to tease him.

          “Molly…” Mycroft let his eyes close and his head relaxed on his neck, enjoying her teasing. “Let me undress and I’ll happily make love to you.”

          “Uh uh,” Molly corrected him, giving his bottom a squeeze whilst her other hand continued to coax groans from him as she stroked him through his trousers. “I have a particular fantasy that I want to fulfill tonight.”

          “Oh?” Mycroft sounded distracted, and she smiled against his back as she circled the head of his prick teasingly with her fingers.

          “Mmhmm, I do. Come sit here on this nice bench, ah, there. Scoot your bottom to the edge for me, darling.” Molly guided him until he was on the edge of the bench and he obligingly parted his legs for her, his eyes darkening. She dropped to her knees between his legs, arranging her skirt to cushion her knees, and smiled at him flirtatiously from beneath lowered lashes. When she had opened his flies and spread the placket of his trousers, Molly gently lowered the waistband of his pants below his erection and paused a moment to admire the sight.

          “Molly…” Mycroft sounded the tiniest bit desperate. She loved seeing him let himself be human with her, watching his expression gentling, his eyes relax their vigilance, the half-smile he wore in her presence softening the firm lines of his mouth.

          Lowering her head, she pressed her nose to his groin, drinking in the lovely, musky smell of his manhood, letting her cheek just brush his satin and steel flesh as she teased him. Taking him in her mouth she hummed happily, and smiled around his flesh as he groaned at the sensation. She hummed again and used one hand to stroke him while she played, her other hand braced on his straining thigh. When she judged that Mycroft was well and truly desperate—and when she was too aroused to prolong it any further—Molly stood up. Balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder, she stepped out of her lacy knickers and went to kick them away.

          Mycroft stopped her and picked them up, bringing the scrap of fabric to his nose and inhaling, closing his eyes in pleasure as he breathed in her arousal. _Dear Lord_ …

          Whimpering, Molly lifted her skirts and straddled his thighs, holding onto his shoulders as his hands grabbed her hips. She lined them up and prepared to lower herself onto him, but he stopped her, “I want to watch,” Mycroft said huskily, holding her eyes with his as both their faces warmed. “I want to watch as you consume me, Molly.” _Oh God_ , she thought desperately, _I am not going to last long_.

          He pushed her skirts out of the way and guided the head of his dick to her entrance, toying with her, rubbing the smooth glans on her damp lips, parting her flesh with his flesh, circling her throbbing clit with his eager erection. Molly’s fingers dug into his shoulders and she gasped when his hot member worked its way inside her, each incremental movement swallowed up by the grasp of her body. “Fuck,” Mycroft ground out through a clenched jaw, “Molly, Molly…ah, God.”

          “Mycroft,” her voice sounded foreign, smoky and guttural and so _needy_. It was incredibly hot watching as he slowly seated himself fully inside her. Her inner walls were flexing madly, milking him with fluttering pulses she couldn’t control. “Yes…” her sigh was accompanied by a sudden looseness in her limbs as the pleasure washed over her.

          “My God, Molly, you are so incredibly tight,” his voice was strained and she kissed his jaw, his cheek, his fluttering eyelid. Pulling back, she smiled with intent and rolled her hips, eliciting a groan. She did it again, just as his bruising grip on her hips tightened and he pulled her down firmly against his groin, her turgid clit rubbing against his pubic bone.

          Their moans mingled and their pace quickened, the pleasure pushing them to chase their climax quickly. Molly was aware of the brush of the wool under her buttocks, the slight bite of his zipper on her inner thigh, the faintest creak of the wood-framed bench under them as they moved faster. “Almost there,” Molly choked out, her throat drying in the flames of her passion. Almost before she had spoken her first orgasm hit her sharply, and her hips jerked against Mycroft’s, as he held her to him tightly and continued moving in her. As the last flutters of her climax dissipated she could feel the beginnings of another. “Mycroft,” she bit out in his ear, “ _Fuck me_.”

          Shock and hunger battled in his eyes, and she saw the moment the desire won out; he didn’t hold back, thrusting so forcefully that his hips lifted her bodily, the bench groaning under them. Molly screamed as another orgasm rocked through her, and Mycroft came, grunting and cursing.

          Plastered together, covered in sweat, chests heaving with their labored breathing, Molly lay limply draped over his shoulder. “Oh my God…that was…oh my God, Mycroft.” She pressed enthusiastic kisses to his face, his neck, his ears, tunneling her fingers through his hair, gripping his head as if he might escape. “That was…”

          “Otherworldly,” Mycroft finished, lifting his head and smiling at her. She had never seen him so disordered, so relaxed, so utterly happy in the moment. “Apparently I like it when you talk dirty.”

          Despite everything, she blushed, “It wasn’t dirty!” Molly protested.

          “It was dirty for Molly Hooper,” he insisted, grinning at her, quite carefree looking. She wished she could snap a picture of him at that moment, looking so lighthearted.

          “Shut up,” she muttered, pressing her hot face to his neck. His arms tightened around her and she felt him laugh.

          “You are delightful, my dear.” He groaned, “I’d like to be able to stand up and carry you to bed, but I’m fairly certain my legs are now made of spaghetti.”

          Giggling, she came out of hiding and kissed him. “This bench is pretty comfy,” Molly pointed out. “We could lie down on it for just a minute. To give those spaghetti legs a chance to recover.” She smiled saucily and received a slap on the bum which made her squeal. Mycroft laid down length wise on the bench, letting his useless legs dangle off the end. Molly arranged herself over him and cuddled to his chest, listening with a smile to his emphatic heartbeat slowing to normal.

          “I must say, I’ve never viewed this bench as anything other than a convenient place to sit and put on my shoes,” Mycroft said slowly, “but forever after this shall be The Bench Upon Which I Fucked Molly Hooper.”

          “Mycroft!”

          He shook with laughter, “You can say it, you can do it, but hearing it embarrasses you?”

          “I said it in the heat of the moment,” Molly protested, “That’s different.”

          “In a good way,” he said in a playful tone of voice, and she giggled.

          “You’re in an _awfully_ good mood,” She pointed out with an arch smile.

          “That’s the Molly influence,” he returned, with what might almost have been a goofy smile.

          “I do love you,” Molly hugged him tightly, “You’re so lovely.”

          “I think you should move in with me.” Mycroft’s hopeful smile was belied by his watchful eyes.

          Molly froze.

         


End file.
